Tied (All Torn Up 2)

My hands grip the tattered backpack filled with my books. Ten years…that can’t be true…it just can’t. I know how to add—I practiced with rocks and my books—and ten years is so many. Ten years is a big pile of little rocks.

All the questions made me remember my time with the man, especially the beginning. At first, I cried nonstop and begged to go home. When that didn’t happen, I prayed for someone to come get me. When that didn’t happen, I tried to find a way out of the room I was trapped in. When there was no way out, I read my books, over and over and over, losing myself in the stories until I became a part of them. That’s how I found out the prince would come save me. It was in all the books, clear as day. So I waited as patiently as I could for him to come.

Even after the bad man gave me a television, I continued to read the books every day. They were my lifeline and the only thing I had that was mine, from before the bad man. I slept with my head on my backpack, using it as a pillow, and the words from the books inside seeped into my dreams, saving me little by little, telling me not to give up hope. Sometimes, the man would take me out of the basement, cover my head with something dark and smelly, and carry me to a hole in the woods. He’d leave me there, to make me appreciate him more. I have no idea how long he kept me in the hole each time, but it felt like forever. And he was right. I was always glad to see him when he came back and pulled me out. Even he was better than total darkness and silence.

I didn’t realize it had taken the prince ten years to finally come, but he did, and that’s all that mattered. I wonder when he’ll be coming back for me, to take me to the happily-ever-after part.

I hope it will be soon.

As much as I kick, scream, and play dead, people continue to fuss over me, making me feel very uncomfortable. They wash me and brush my hair, and I scream the entire time until they finally leave, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief. I wish I could change the channel and see something else now. I don’t like this show anymore.

I pick at the food they gave me, leery of its hidden agenda and odd textures and flavors. I yank it all apart with my fingers and nibble on tiny pieces, my tongue searching for a hint of acrid flavor that will make me feel tired and sick. After my meal, I huddle on the bed, pulling the thin white sheet against me, wondering what’s going to happen next. My question is answered instantly when a group of people burst into the room and close the door behind them.

Trapped in a moment I once begged and cried for, I feel numb, both mentally and in my heart. They stare at me, and I stare back. At first, I don’t recognize them, but slowly their faces merge with my memories and small flickers of recognition speed up my pulse.

My parents look older, with slightly graying hair, but they still look like they do in my very dim memories. My mother looks a lot like I remember her, still with shoulder-length blond hair, the same color as mine. She’s beautiful, like a movie star. My older brother is a handsome man now, not a fifteen-year-old boy who used to give me rides on his shoulders and push me on a swing in our backyard. My father looks like an older version of my brother, with the same light brown hair, although my father has gray streaks through his. They have the same brown eyes. Both of them are big, strong, and athletic.

I shift my attention back to the TV on the wall, unease rippling through me at the way they’re looking at me. Like they’re waiting for me to do something that I don’t know how to do, or expecting me to say words that will take away the pain and confusion in their eyes.

I’m in a cloud of surrealness, and I feel nothing but curiosity about these people as they stare at me. As the seconds tick by, I become more and more uncomfortable under their intense expressions and sobs, and I wish they would go away. I want Poppy. I want my prince. They don’t look at me this way.

My parents suddenly come forward and try to hug me, and my body stiffens from the unwelcome, foreign touch. I should know them, and feel safe with them, but I don’t. They’re just as much strangers to me as the nurses and doctors who have been coming and going.